Imperfect Strangers copy edit

by Mary

  “What?”

  “Aye matey!” She nudges me with her elbow, totally cracking herself up.

  I chuckle and lean into her bright laughter, soaking it up like the rays of the sun. This is why Bethany is like no other person I’ve ever met. She so inherently silly and fun and just so much herself. There’s no trying to impress or act mature or rich or self-important.

  “Tell me more stuff,” she insists.

  “It opened as an immigration port in 1892. Almost 450,000 immigrants were processed during the first year.”

  “Damn. That’s amazing.”

  “The busiest day ever at Ellis Island was April 17, 1907. Over eleven thousand people arrived. They say about forty percent of the current population can trace their ancestry to immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island.”

  We spend more time talking and I tell her all the little factoids I’ve researched and she tells me lame pirate jokes.

  “How do pirates know that they’re pirates?”

  “How?”

  “They think, therefore they arrrgh.”

  I laugh.

  She smiles at my response, her eyes lighting up. “You have the best laugh.”

  “I think I’ve laughed more in the last three weeks than I have in my entire life.”

  Her head tilts. “How do you know all this trivia? Do they make you take a New York–specific history class when you grow up here?”

  “Not exactly. I might have stayed up a little late last night researching some of this stuff.”

  And maybe glanced at my phone a few times while she wasn’t looking.

  “You did?” Her eyes widen and then shift down to the water flowing past the boat, white-tipped waves as breaking against the boat. She turns her gaze back to mine. “Why do you do all these things for me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’ve helped me with my crazy problems, you let me stay at your place, you know when I need a break and make it happen, you bought me a night-light, and now you’ve stayed up late memorizing facts just so I’ll have a good time. I don’t think even my best friend would go through so much trouble for me.”

  My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth but I force it into action.

  It’s time to tell her the full truth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’d rather regret the risks that didn’t work out than the chances I didn’t take at all.

  –Simone Biles

  Bethany

  He takes a breath and glances away from me, out to the sea.

  His jaw is tight and I think maybe he’s going to ignore my question but then he pulls his sunglasses off and sticks them on top of his hat. His gaze returns to mine and his eyes are bright and open.

  “Bethany, the truth is . . . I like you.”

  I blink. “Well, I like you, too.”

  “No.” He bites his lip. “The feelings I have for you go beyond friendly.” He’s watching my reaction, his intense blue gaze searing into mine.

  My heart stutters in my chest and my breathing accelerates. “But we . . . what . . . why?”

  He chuckles and shakes his head, his eyes leaving mine for the water beyond, squinting into the light glancing off the waves. “I can’t believe I just said that. It sounds so lame. But you’ve always been honest with me and you deserve the same. It’s okay if you don’t feel what I do. I don’t expect anything from you other than your friendship. I know you don’t want to date me—you’ve been perfectly clear about that from the beginning—so if I’ve just totally freaked you out, we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

  I think I’ve gone into shock.

  Brent Crawford is a rambling mess of nerves. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. The one who could have any woman in New York and probably the entire planet, if not the universe. He likes me? Likes . . . me? Crazy-haired, unfiltered-mouth, needy, ghost-ridden me?

  It can’t be true.

  I pinch him.

  “Ow. Why’d you do that?”

  “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

  His smile is wry. “I think you’re supposed to pinch yourself.”

  I nod. “I’ll try that next time.” And before I can overthink it and totally screw it up, I reach up on my toes, grab his face, and pull him to me.

  His lips are firm but soft, slack with surprise initially, but then his hands tunnel into my hair and he pulls me closer. His movements are abrupt but his touch is surprisingly tender. Like he wants me so badly but he doesn’t want to break me. Like he’s the pirate and I’m his treasure and despite his greed I must be plundered with soft fingers and gentle touches. His hat tilts off his head, falling behind him along with his sunglasses, but we ignore it. His tongue is warm and insistent against mine and holy hell the man can kiss. A pulse of need trips through my body and I tug him closer, pressing myself against him to bring more of our bodies together.

  And that’s when he pulls back. “I . . . don’t want to rush things.” The unsteady tremor in his voice and his arm around my shoulder soothe the sting of his withdrawal just when it was getting interesting.

  I nod. He’s right. My legs are trembling and my stomach is hot with want. “Right. Totally. No rushing. That’s smart.” I glance around the boat, looking for somewhere private. Maybe I could convince him to do it in the bathroom. There’s gotta be a janitor’s closet somewhere.

  “B.” A gentle finger on my jaw pulls my gaze back to his. “You’re looking for somewhere for us to hook up, aren’t you?”

  “Are you a mind reader?”

  “Your face is like a book.” He chuckles, and I swear there is a thread of nerves in the sound. “I’m serious about you. This isn’t about an easy lay. You mean more to me than a quick orgasm on a dirty ferry.”

  I grin. “I don’t really see anything wrong with a quick orgasm on a dirty ferry. Maybe someday we can try it? After we’ve exhausted all other ways of orgasming, of course.”

  He laughs at the comment, but his jaw tenses and once again I get the sense that I’m missing something.

  His arm is around my neck and he pulls me into his side, kissing the top of my head.

  It almost convinces me I’m imagining the underlying tension.

  ~*~

  We spend the rest of the day like real tourists, eating hot dogs at Coney Island, going on a couple of rides at Luna Park, and exploring The Met. Brent buys us matching I heart NY T-shirts. We put them on over the shirts we’re already wearing and even though it looks lumpy and weird, he kisses my nose and tells me I’m adorable.

  And I almost believe it. His eyes are constantly on me, running over my body with enjoyment that he’s no longer trying to hide.

  It takes a while to get back to his apartment because there’s a mechanical issue on the Q but I don’t mind because Brent and I hold hands and he plays with my fingers, sending shots of energy straight to the butterflies dancing in my stomach. Conversation is easy and fun and I never want this day to end.

  There’s one last stop, but he takes me back to the apartment to change into something warmer and to pick up the car.

  He tells me to keep it casual so I trade out my T-shirts for a thin sweater since it’s getting colder as the sun sets.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The one place we missed.”

  “I’m sure we missed more than one place.”

  “One very iconic New York location. I’ll give you hints.”

  “Ooh yay. What do I get if I guess right?”

  “What do you want?”

  I bite my lip and pretend to think about it. “Anything I want?”

  He turns away, pushing the button on the elevator. “Uh, almost anything.” He smiles at me, but there’s strain in the tension of his jaw and the line of his broad shoulders.

  I tilt my head at him.

  “Your first clue is that this place was named one of the seven wonders of the mode
rn world by the American Society of Civil Engineers.” He takes my hand, his thumb running over my knuckles, and the motion soothes away my insecurities.

  I’m about to make another joke about how it must be in his pants and we don’t really have to go anywhere, but I manage to restrain myself. “Is it the naked cowboy?”

  “Close, but no. It’s also the most photographed building in the world.”

  “A building, huh?”

  He grimaces as we step off the elevator into the lobby. “That totally gives it away, doesn’t it?”

  “Pretty much, but I’ll pretend I don’t know you’re taking me to the most romantic place in the world so we can keep playing.”

  He feeds me more bits of information while we drive down Third Avenue, through Gramercy Park and past the brownstones and upscale apartment buildings.

  “It’s home to so many businesses it has its own zip code.”

  “Seriously? That’s insane.”

  We find parking eventually and walk to the building.

  The lobby of the Empire State Building is crowded with people, their voices echoing against marble walls. A golden ceiling etched with cogs and wheels glows above our heads and I keep glancing up as we walk through the crowd.

  “They’re open every day of the year until two in the morning,” Brent continues. We bypass the line and he waves at a guard at one of the shiny elevators.

  Some people in line murmur and flash photos as we pass. He forgot his hat.

  “Seriously? So when Tom Hanks finally met Meg Ryan at the top of the Empire State Building, it was past two a.m.?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Can we reenact the final scene at the top?”

  He chuckles. “If you really want to.”

  I clap my hands. “Best date ever!”

  “Hey Superman,” the guard says when we reach the elevator. He and Brent perform some kind of complicated handshake. Then Brent hands him an envelope. “You’re the best.” The guard slips the envelope into his jacket, then punches a code on the elevator keypad. The doors slide open.

  “Thank you for getting us in at the last minute.” Brent glances down at me. “This is Bethany.” There’s a slight hesitation before he says my name. Not sure whether to use the g word?

  It is confusing. What are we? He said he liked me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. Does it? It sounds like such a juvenile title. Girlfriend. Like something you have in middle school, not when you’re nearly thirty.

  We step onto the lift and the guard reaches in to push some more buttons for us before giving me a wink. “Nice to meet you. You kids have fun now.”

  The doors shut and the elevator begins to rise.

  “Is it going to take us to the observation deck?”

  “Not quite. We’re going a little farther than that.”

  The elevator opens and we walk out onto a window-enclosed observatory that spans the perimeter of the building.

  “This is the 102nd floor. But we’re not stopping here.”

  We make a hard right turn, where another employee in a suit smiles at Brent and opens a door to our left. A narrow, dark staircase leads up.

  I lift my brows at Brent. “Is this where you commit the perfect crime?”

  He laughs. “No, but that’s not a bad idea.”

  He lets me go first and we walk up the stairs. It opens into a wider space with exposed copper pipes and another staircase.

  “Are we going up more?” I ask.

  “No. Not allowed. The hatch there,” he points, “leads to the antenna. We’re going here.” He opens a windowed door and we step out onto a narrow walk space. There’s a thick, waist-high white wall and a matching handrail. Beyond, the entire city sparkles beneath us.

  “Holy shit.” I walk to the ledge and look down and immediately feel dizzy. I step back and nearly collide with Brent.

  “I gotcha.” His hands are warm and he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

  “This is . . . amazing.” I glance around. The walkway runs in a narrow circle around the spire, which looms above us. “Is anyone else here?”

  “No. This is a little New York secret. They only let a select few up here. Welcome to the 103rd floor.”

  “The perks of being famous.”

  He shrugs and the movement runs through me. “I’m sure journalists and press sometimes, too.”

  “I think I saw Taylor Swift post a pic from up here once.”

  “Probably. Let’s check it out.”

  We circle the building and it’s the most amazing and terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. The cold wind whips my hair around my face, turning the tip of my nose numb, but Brent’s hand is warm in mine.

  He puts his jacket on my shoulders while we absorb the view.

  Everything looks tiny, like we’re in an airplane without the restricted view. He points out the Chrysler Building, the spire glowing like a candle. Times Square is easy to spot, the colorful buildings all alight in blues and greens and yellows.

  “What bridge is that?” I point to the structure aglow with traffic and lights amongst the columns.

  “Williamsburg, I think.”

  Once we’ve seen everything and I’m shivering despite the borrowed jacket, he guides me back inside and we head down a floor to the enclosed space of the 102nd floor.

  There’s no one else here. Just us and the view out the window.

  A bag of food and a bottle of wine are waiting for us next to a blanket.

  “Wow. You planned a picnic?”

  He rubs a hand along the back of his head. “Too cheesy?”

  “No. It’s perfect.” I swallow. No one’s ever gone to as much trouble as Brent has, as he continues to do, even when he barely knew me.

  “What’s in the bag?” I sniff. “Wait, don’t tell me. Chicken nuggets and tater tots.”

  He laughs. “You can smell that?”

  “Am I right?” I grab his arm in excitement.

  “You have a nose like a shark.”

  “That’s a compliment. Sharks are awesome.”

  “They sure are. Way better than Oakland.” He rolls his eyes and I laugh.

  “Blasphemer.”

  “I brought chocolate cake, too.”

  I can’t contain my smile. “Forgiven.”

  We eat the chicken fingers and tater tots with our fingers and sip our wine out of plastic cups.

  Brent is affectionate while we eat, feeding me one of his tots, kissing a spot of ketchup from my lips.

  It’s a little confusing. I mean, I know he wants to take it slow, but I can’t help but wonder why he seems so wary about the physical stuff.

  What if he’s a virgin?

  No. No way.

  Twice now we’ve woken up together, spooned together like lovers. He was never aroused. Maybe he has a super tiny penis and he’s insecure about it. Or maybe, more likely, he’s just not attracted to me. But if that were true, why all the kissing and affection? It doesn’t make sense.

  I have to figure it out.

  There’s a lull in our conversation when he’s pulling out the chocolate cake and forks, and I use it to plant my investigative seeds.

  “How long were you and Bella together?”

  “Since high school.”

  Damn. My longest relationship was with a box of wine. I nearly inhale my drink. “That’s a really long time. Like a decade.”

  He hands me a fork and puts the small circle of cake between us. “Yeah. I know. That’s why it was so shocking when she broke it off after I started doing well with football. I really thought she was the one. But she couldn’t handle my job. She was insecure about our relationship and for a long time I thought it was my fault, but I never did anything for her to lose faith in me. She gave me an ultimatum and I didn’t choose her.”

  Maybe that’s why he seemed so down and out when I first met him.

  I take a bite of ca
ke and moan. “This is so good. How long ago did you break up?”

  “It’s been . . . over a year. Once she left, I moved in with Marc. That’s when all the insanity happened with Marissa and Gwen.”

  “You know, I guess I could kind of see where Bella was coming from. Being in a relationship with a celebrity would be hard. You travel during the season. Women stalk you, throw themselves at you . . . it would be hard to believe one person could be enough.”

  He takes a bite of cake. I watch his lips press against the fork before meeting his eyes. There’s a small crease between his brows. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “About what?”

  “Us.”

  I put my fork down. “Are we an us?”

  “I would like to be. I thought I was pretty clear.”

  I purse my lips and pretend to think about it. “You’ve been sort of clear.”

  He leans forward and gives me a soft kiss, making my pout melt. Just a touch, a hint of chocolatey pleasure, and then he pulls back. “Your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve given you my dirty history. Now you get to spill.”

  “Uh-huh, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

  “Yep.”

  I swallow back a twinge of shame. I have nothing of value to share, so I keep my words light. “There’s not much to tell. It’s sort of embarrassing but I haven’t had a lot of experience in long-term relationships. The last serious boyfriend I had was in high school.”

  “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because look at you. You’re funny and smart and strong.” His hand lifts to my face, cupping my cheek for a moment before falling away. “And you’re beautiful.”

  I stare at him. No one’s ever told me all that before. I have no idea how to respond. My initial inquisition goes out the window. I don’t care if he’s a man-whore or Mother Teresa or doesn’t have a penis at all. Right now, he’s mine.

  “Well, there was one guy in college. I thought it could get serious. But then I overheard him talking to his buddies about how I wasn’t good for anything more than a decent fuck.”